Unfettered
by Nyctale
Summary: Such a life looked like a blessing to the peasant's eye, but Robin, the highest hierophant of Plegia knew what such a life was: A golden cage with centuries of old traditions as bars, and dark secrets entrapped within.
1. Day

"Oi, big brother!" touted a sensual voice. "Getting ready to dirty your hands, are you?

Robin was standing in front of the heavy double doors, replacing his heavy cloak on his shoulders and his famed crown named _Grima's Fangs_ atop his head, when his _sister_ arrived. He turned his head towards the source of her voice, a grin on his face.

"Fancy my place?"

His sister, Aversa, grimaced, the only time her complexion lost the perfection she tried so hard to keep.

"As if I'll ever get anything of me dirty, not even my weapons, that's why I fancy magic, blast'em to bits from a long range..."

A smile tugged the corner of his lips again as he looked down at his clothes, flattening his shirt. He felt her hand on his shoulder and slowly slither down his chest.

"Don't forget to bath after your done, I don't want my big brother to get infected..."

"You're unbelievable..."

Aversa chuckled in his ear.

"That's why I'm feared all across Plegia."

He plucked her hand off his chest, a smile written across his face.

"I have to go."

And he walked through the double doors that guards opened for him, leaving a pouting, regal woman behind.

The Throne Room in itself wasn't a room exactly, more like never ending hallway, sided by archways and mezzanines on the second floor and it was all crossed by other never ending hall ways which gave the impression of a maze-like palace. The Throne was seated at the end of the Grand Hallway, right in front of a high bay window which purpose was to set ablaze the Throne Room at sunset.

The College of Pontiffs was already waiting for him beside the King's Throne. True, Plegia's throne wasn't his, but King Gangrel's, but as Grima's avatar, he had every right to sit upon the Throne, even kick the king out if he so desired.

But that would be unnecessary and his father, Validar, was having way too much fun with Gangrel. The puppet danced under his father's strings.

The clergy fell to their knees when he sat down on the Throne. No word was needed: an a bishop handed him his ceremonial tome and they all took their position on each side of his seat, head bent. Robin remained seated, back straight, chin jutting out, eyes locked onto the horizon, his marked hand resting on his chest and the other laid atop the tome on his lap.

Across the Throne Room, the guards opened the doors to let the guest in.

Slightly squinting, Robin could see it was a woman, limping and slightly slouched. but as she came nearer, he could see her steely stare, cold and hiding barely her pain. She was as neat as he expected a village woman to be: bags under her eyes, stains on her hands, stretched skin over her cheekbones, skin burnt by the desert sun, grubby robes that she tried to clean for the occasion... sickly looking

But her eyes...

He didn't trust her.

So he keep his hand close to his tome, _Grima's Truth_, just in case of rebellion. It had already happened and the peasant's end had been messy. But this one was well surrounded, by the clergy who were by no mean helpless in a fight and escorted by two well-armed guards.

The woman knelt before him, her gaze on the floor and she tried to stand back up, a guard dealt her a sharp blow to the back of her knees and she sprawled on the marble floor again.

"Your Divine Highness Grima, this is Ayan of Raye's region, widow of Nyck, a faithful defender of Plegia and the Grimleal. He died two weeks ago, defending an esteemed Grimleal member.

Robin nodded.

So this woman was here in her late husband stead to receive the grace of Grima. He had done blessings like this dozens and dozens of times.

Just a day like the others.

Not long after his birth, when the Grimleal and Plegia were celebrating, the neighbouring halidom, Ylisse, declared a holy war on Plegia. It had been a massacre and Plegia had lost more than the enemy. Entire villages decimated, families slaughtered...the streets smelt of blood, gore and desolation for many years. Nothing had been ceased or brought back by the enemy. It was just killings.

Looking back, veterans and historians recognized it was more of a genocide than a war. The goals held by Ylisse's Exalt were too kill the "heathens"...the worshippers of the Fell Dragon.

Many Grimleal members had fell during the genocide, even the secret ones.

Thankfully, destiny had avenged them and they found the Exalt, fallen from an arrow in the eye in a battlefield.

Since then, Ylisse had returned to its peace with plegian blood on their hands while Plegia gathered its broken limbs under itself to walk again. Afraid and lost, they turned their hope and devotion to Grima, to the young Robin, who had mercifully stayed safe during the war.

And so he began his role of Plegia's hierophant, Grima's heart and body...

He scrubbed himself raw, having discarded the loaf a while ago in favor of his nails for a deep cleaning. Feeling that his skin was red enough, he sank in the hot water till his chin hovered above the surface and let his skin buzz in frustration from the warm water. Robin sighed and dunked his silver-haired head under the pool sized tub.

The ceremony hadn't been long: he recited a few prayers, blessed the woman and she then took her leave. And everything ended with the celebration of the _Union_, a recital of three prayers with the College.

After that, following Aversa's demand, he took a bath... He later discovered it wasn't only to get rid of the filth...

"Would you mind if you could just stop staring"

A smile responded to him a few meters away.

"Is it a sin?"

"I might make it one!"

She chuckled and walked around the edge of the bath and knelt behind him. Her svelte arms hugged him from behind, around his neck and she lightly bit his ear, sensually.

"Stop it."

Her breath on his neck only made him shiver.

She only pulled on his lobe even more and he felt her grin against his hair. Groaning, he fought against her grip and caresses and waddled in the center of the bath once freed. He glared at her and she just smiled, laid down and draped her arms over the pool's edge.

"Who would've have thought the Great Grima looked adorable blushing like that. "

Robin sulked and grimaced.

He was never sure how to react to her: hate her, love her? He never knew. But he clearly knew what she wanted from him though. She never truly have been his sister. His father had spotted her in a village a year after the end of the war, fighting off rioters. She fought like a wild wyvern, Validar had told him, untamed and fiery.

_He had to harness its fury_, he had said_._

So he brought her to Plegia's capital and took her under his wing for the first three years of her training then left her under the tutelage of experienced generals and sages. She carved herself a name throughout her teens, but others rose to try and steal her fame and take the highest spot under the eye the King and High Priests...and hierophant as well.

So Aversa struggled to keep her comfortable life so she clung to her last resource: Him.

Not that her attention truly bothered him. She never went further than shameless teasing and it was better like this.

Aversa tilted her head, still grinning.

"You have nothing to say, your "_Felliness?_"

"Get me a towel..."

"You mean...this?"

She held out the towel he had left on the armchair near the bath. Robin swam to the edge and stretched to get the cloth.

"Oops!" the towel slipped from her fingers and landed a tad too far from his reach. Her grin faded when she saw the seriousness in his eyes. With a sigh, she pushed the towel closer to him. "You're no fun."

Robin dabbed at his wet face and waited for Aversa to leave the bathroom to dry himself completely and get dressed in a more casual set of clothes: a white tunic, trimmed with intricate black designs, a heavy leather belt hugged his waist over a silk purple sash. He readjusted his hair and short black vest over his shoulders, satisfied, he exited the steamy room. Aversa had left his quarters so he found himself alone in his vast bedroom, surrounded by slim windows that gazed out on the Plegian capital.

Sighing, he left to his study to examine a few books about magic as his father pressured him to do when he had free time.

The walls of his study were covered by massive bookshelves, filled with holy books, magic, science, tactics and defense books. Everything that could be useful to him as Grima's avatar.

After a few hours he got bored of reading on a study of the Nosferatu tomes and the best use of them. So he switched to reading researches on Manaketes and dragon stones.

"As I said earlier, King Gangrel is only doing half-hearted attempts to get the Fire Emblem into our hands. Bandits! He got to step it up!"

"What do you suggest Neruson? We don't have a functioning army since the last war!"

Robin looked to his meal, various marinade meats, goat, lamb and fish. All in different bowls. He currently had the fish bowl in his left hand and took small bites while observed the mayhem on the lower dais. He had the same show every day: the highest members would meet at the palace for dinner. They would talk argue and obsess over the might of Grima and its resurrection while Robin watched from afar, in the shadows of the highest platform, as his father instructed. In his younger years it was fascinating to hear the most influential people in the kingdom interacted, but he soon saw the poison lurking behind their words.

" I'm not an idiot, Ardri! I know we cannot instigate a war right now and that the Grimleal ust stay hidden. But still, we can't get let time flies by forever! The Grimleal finally has Master Grima's blood and heart in the same flesh!

Robin frowned and smashed his fish against the porcelain with his chopsticks. It always ended like this.

"Enjoying hearing about your future?"

Robin recognized the regal voice immediately and smiled lightly.

"Hello father", he swallowed his bite. "It's a bit disturbing hearing old men talking about my future, without even knowing I'm here."

Validar chuckled, sat beside him and picked a few raisins from the fruit bowl on the low table.

"They do know you're here, but it would be rude of them to address you."

Robin grunted and returned to his meal while his father picked out a few fruits out of his son's course: he didn't mind.

For the rest of dinner, the clergy continued talking and ranting about the "half assed" attempts to start a war while Validar did a check up in Robin's studies.

"But seriously father... I don't understand why I have to make researches on dragonstones? Manaketes are extremely rare, therefore learning about fighting them is a bit... useless..."

Robin swallowed nervously as he saw a shadow pass over his father's eyes.

"Sorry, I know I should learn the most as I can but-"

"You clearly did not understand what you read."

"Uh?" He tried to push away the sting of embarrassment.

"The dragonstones are precious sources of magic untapped and they only respond to certain individuals."

"But how-"

_Oh..._

He couldn't suppress the shiver that shook him. He had Grima's blood and heart, an ancient and godly dragon. He never knew he could tap into the power of Manaketes.

"So you mean I could shift into G-"

"Of course not! If it were the case we wouldn't be hunting the Emblem!"

"Ah"

Robin felt his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Of course...

_Nothing could be that simple._


	2. Family

The sun beat down upon his bare back like a shower of heat and the sweat coating his skin didn't help to refresh him at all. He was certain he would burn as a crisp at the end of his training.

He grunted as the brunt of his father's training sword connected with his sternum and sent him keeling into the dirt. He brought a hand over his eyes when the sun seared his retinas and took a deep breath when his lungs started working again.

"As much as I admire your strong offensive, never underestimate fighting in defensive. Your strikes are quite imprecise too", grunted Validar.

"Yes father."

With that Robin stood, swiped the dirt off the back of his silver hair and got into sparring position again. He kept his eyes trained onto his father who stared him down without an ounce of pity.

It was like this every two days, they'd come down in the courtyard to train in fencing, magic, hand combat and meditation. It was only the two of them, no one was allowed to see the High hierophant, dressed in such a fashion: bare chest, loose pants and laced boots.

Truly decadent.

He did enjoy those training sessions, even though he came out of them exhausted and in pain, it was the only time he could see the old man.

Well...

Old man wasn't really the term. He could still pack quite a punch if he wanted to, even if swords were never his weapon of choice.

"Try again then!", barked the man, the stern look in his dark eyes never gone.

They repeated feints and lunges over and over again, till Robin felt like his arm would fall off his shoulder for keeping it stretched for so long. Answering his prayers, he father ended the fencing practice for the meditation session.

They sat under the archways the contoured the courtyard, in the shade. Robin could finally savour the fresher air against his skin and the calming descent of his heartbeat. This was by far his favorite moment: the surreal tranquility, the lazy whistling of the wind that past above the castles spires and towers, the distant songs of unfettered birds and the soft lapping of the fountain.

This was his only moment of peace.

He wasn't restrained by traditions or obligations, no longer being stuffed underneath ceremonial clothing or being critiqued by his father who expected so much of him.

His father, Validar had incredible pressure on his shoulders before Robin's birth. Plegia had been waiting for the return of Grima for a century and generation by generation, the holy family had brought nothing but disappointment, till Robin was born with the long sought for mark of Grima on his hand. Tragedy almost befell Plegia when his mother tried to escape with him as an infant.

Robin never knew how she truly died, but the ones who were charged to chase her in the middle of that fated night told him she was still weak from giving birth to him and her run during a cold desert night made her fatally ill.

Robin had no memories of her, nor any portraits. He only had her soft traits and silvery blond hair in heritage.

She was just a name barely spoken about between the walls of his palace.

"Yesterday, you said something about the dragonstones and the fact that I could probably use them..." said Robin to his father as they were back in the Hall, sponging their sweat off.

Validar plunged the loaf into the water bowl a servant brought them a few moments ago.

"Yes you could use them to boost your magic abilities or use them to replace tomes altogether."

"Will I be to channel different types of magic through it?" asked Robin, curious, since tomes were infused with a single type of magic which the caster could absorb then launch. The actual content of tomes were for studying and to refine the use of the tome's magic.

But if a dragonstone could liberate raw magic that he could shape into any element he wanted to, it would be revolutionary.

"_Would_ you be able to", corrected the man, rising a finger as a warning. "It's a theory I came about quite recently. And we don't have a dragonstone in our possession. That's why I am planning to pilgrim to the Vent'am Shrine, next week."

Robin fished for fresh clothes that were piled on a bench and he rose an eyebrow.

"Isn't that a minor shrine? Wait... isn't that the one where an old Earth dragon was buried?"

"With all of his belongings..."

"So there "might" be a dragonstone in there. Are you sure you want to desecrate a sacred ground... just for suppositions?"

His Validar was silent and the look in his eyes grave. Robin gulped and played the hem of the tunic he just put on.

"Plegia is doing small raids on Ylisse, we cannot outright march to the Ylissean capitol with our army in shambles, but such a day will come", added his father, a dark undertone in his voice. "This will be the day the Ylisseans will believe the rumors that Grima has truly returned among us and they will target you."

It's true that Ylisse heard of Grima's return in flesh and blood, but the same buzz surrounded the sacred bloodline every time a new member was born and for the halidom it'd be impossible to say if Robin's birth was the legit Grima's reincarnation... or at least Robin hoped it was...

His father sighed and he beckoned his son to leave the Hall with him. The servants lined the walls of the corridors prostrated themselves at the High Hierophant's arrival.

"Are they already suspecting it is true, that I am Grima?" enquired Robin "There are rumors of spies wandering around Plegia and even in the Grimleal. They might have noticed that the Grimleal behaves differently than when you were at the head."

"I doubt they would infiltrate the Grimleal, nor will they be able to get in contact with you.

Robin thought of all the people he knew, which wasn't much. His father, Aversa, a personal instructor, that he barely saw these days, and the close circle of hierophants that was re-elected every five years.

"Would infiltrating the circle of hierophants be possible for a spy?"

Validar huffed with a smirk on his face.

"I would love to see them try! Those Ylissean won't ever be able to set foot in the clergy with their inability in occult magic. And on top of that, I took the Cardinal Secretary of State's position. No un-fellblooded can touch you.

It was Robin's time to smirk.

"I'll tell Aversa to pack her things then."

He cringed as Validar had gripped the nape of his neck.

"Your words are meant to be the truth, you should never lower yourself to useless tales. Got it?" He was pleased to see his son's nod. "But it's true, Aversa had tried to get closer to you lately. I shall have a word with her."

He parted way with his father at the chapel as they did every day. The small chapel was silent and peaceful, with drapes of golden light cascading from the high clerestory windows, moths of dusts floating.

...silent...

It was at this moment that he realized that his life would become more and more like this. Eerily silent and filled with solitude. His father wishing to reduce Aversa's presence in the portrait was proof of that.

Sighing, Robin dropped to his knees in front of the altar.

Mesmerized by the tears of ink that dripped from his pen, Robin couldn't bring himself to bring the blurry words in his mind onto paper. Inspiration had long since flowed out of him, which was a given considering the number of pages he had written in the span of two years.

The pen dropped into the ink pot with a tiny splash and Robin grunted, resting his head against the backrest of his chair. After rubbing the exhaustion from his bleary eyes he glanced at the rolls of papyrus strewn across his desk. It was close to nine hundred pages after the copyists are done putting it in book form. But he had to do more than a thousand pages, more than what his father and ancestors did. Writing religious scriptures were a tradition and obligation since the Fell dragon was vanquished. The purpose of Grima has to be carried by those in whom the Fell blood flowed. As Grima reincarnated, the expectations were much higher with him. He mustn't disappoint. Once his long book would be finished, the copies will be sent in the largest temple in every plegian city, to be hollered at the mass and venerated as the Word of Grima.

Stress made him even less inspired. He had talked about every subject and even tried to decipher his nuts great-great grandmother's book for new ideas, but nothing. He had already approached the subject of the Apocalypse Grima would bring and how that Death was only temporary. The Fell Dragon would collect the souls of every being on Earth, sinners as well and carry them far above the World while its mighty wings beat down the unholy soil that Humanity had committed such atrocities upon. Grima's breath of ice and fire would shape the new World. Fresh and untarnished.

Those servants of Naga praised they were fixing the World by defending their morals and ideologies at the tip of bloody swords. It has never worked. Even though they had a century to demonstrate it.

They can't fix this broken world. They needed to be born again. But who would be born must first destroy a world.

He wondered what such a world would look like. A world were skirmishes a thing of the past. One without boundaries... one where he could be free?

His fingers danced around his pen.

A/N

It took slightly longer than I thought it would for this chapter. I had to research about the routine of religious figures.

I managed to cite Hermann Hesse, yeah! *achievement!*

And I wrote about a third of it tipsy *points at my dad* that's his fault. He thought it was a good idea to "celebrate" the end of the semester and he gave me a rhum-punch.

See ya


	3. Heat

(A/N): ...yeah... that chapter took a while. I was plagued with an intense writer's block and I started University. Woohoo!  
>-still un-betaed.<p>

Just as his father planned, the next week they left for the Vent'am shrine to search for a precious dragonstone. They boarded the carriage at first light and departed in an unusual quiet manner: No trumpets, no banners and no bystanders to greet them, they left like thieves.

The streets were eerily quiet and if it was not for the rooster that crowed, Robin would have sworn a death curse had stricken the city and stolen away every soul that inhabited it. The stillness allowed him to observe the city, uncharted territory for someone as sequestered as he was. It wasn't as beautiful as the palace was: no rich colours, no delicate stained glass, no draperies and no expensive carpets. But something was special about those sandy-coloured houses with flat roofs, something alien. An invisible cloud of suffering floated above the rooftops. A pain carried by every Plegians since the last war. Hunger, illness and crime...

They didn't stay in the capital long, before he could blink, the horses were already galloping in the vast wasteland.

Farmlands were rare here and farmers preferred to stick close to waterways. The only way to make something grow here even with the various irrigation techniques they perfected through the centuries. And the livestock was kept in for most of the day.

It was empty, flat rare trees decorated scarcely the vast landscape.

The scenery didn't change save for the hues of the sand that turned pure gold as the sun rose higher. The air burned more by each passing hour and by noon, Robin thought with revulsion that he might have drenched his ceremonial robes in sweat. It was to his great pleasure that the carriages stopped by an oasis to quench the horses thirst and fill the Grimleal members and soldiers stomachs.

Everyone sighed and stretched their sore limbs, either from riding or sitting for too long. Validar, the only one who shared his carriage with his son helped him down the carriage steps when he noticed how shaky his legs were.

"You're servants will set up your lunch spot by the pond," informed Validar, pointing at the spot, shadowed by acacias. "You won't be bothered there."

It was his solace. Solitude was peace, he repeated to himself after each bite he took of his meal. No one to bother him, just like his father said. Like this he could appreciate all the subtle delicacy of the meat, bread and fruits he had to eat: Fresh, juicy and tasty. More delicious than what soldiers had to eat even more than what his father and the king -who had joined the cohort to meet up with the border patrol- had to eat.

Relaxing under the shade of an acacia, even though it didn't spare him from the heat, he observed their escort on the other side, trying to pick up stray words. It was an unintelligible blabber.

From the sea of heads, he discerned Aversa's white mane, she shone like the brightest star under the desert sun. Not once did she look his way, like she would always do, sending him flirtatious glances that would fluster him. The absence of her advances was disquieting, Validar probably spoke to her, telling her to stay away from Grima's flesh and blood, just like he had sworn he would to Robin. Even from far away, Robin could see a difference in her stance: back straight, chin jutted out and arrogance in her dark eyes. She tried to appear more intimidating to hide the anxiety Robin knew she was feeling. He, her only guarantee for promotion was out of her grasp.

He truly did pity her. Living in this family was taxing. You had to be on top to not disappoint and Aversa, not having a drop of fell blood, was susceptible to be left in the dust.

Even though their relationship was superficial, her using him and him playing along, she was refreshing to have around...

Robin froze in alarm when the soldiers suddenly stood up one by one, a few of them surrounded the High Hierophant, hands gripped around their lances, and all of their were eyes lost on the same point on the horizon. Robin could only take a peek through the wall of bodies: a tiny dot, cloud of dust in its trail, came towards them at a rattling pace.

A horse and a cavalier, the Plegian banner fluttering behind the messenger. After a tense moment, the horse stopped, wheezing, beside the temporary settlement.

"A message from the Plegian border, near Heimler," the sweat-drenched rider, wiping his brow. "Following a raid on the Ylissean town of Themis, we successfully kidnapped a noble heir. General Orton ask for the next procedures."

Robin abandoned his meal, pushed through his guards and slowly trotted over to where the scene was happening. Validar stopped his advance just as he was about to enter the throng of soldier, the man's face shone with absolute mirth and so did King Gangrel who let out a guffaw.

"Give me a horse," he ordered, snapping his fingers and seized the horse's reins a soldier just brought him. "Aversa you're coming with me."

The woman absolutely appeared radiant as she joined the king and his new escort. They left quickly in a cloud of dust.

Validar was still beaming when they mounted in the carriage again with full stomaches and Robin could guess why: The Fire Emblem was a well guarded treasure in Ylisse and to lure it out they needed to invade Ylisse by declaring war. Whoever declares it first doesn't matter, but having this noble girl in their grasp could be the spark that set everything in motion.

The goal the Grimleal set for him has never seemed so close. His Awakening was nigh.

Robin was choking. Who had this great idea the force the High Hierophant in the most stuffy robes as a tradition? He would seriously spit on their grave or expedited them into it if they weren't already. He wiped the trickles of sweat off his nape, grimacing at the slimy textures it left on his fingers.

The shadowy interior of their compartment still brought no release from the heat and Robin nervously swallowed around the thick paste in his mouth. Their pause at the oasis to fill themselves hadn't helped, he didn't feel well.

No matter how many swings out his canteen he took it simply couldn't save him from the dizzy spells.

He already emptied two of them...

His only silver lining was that they were close to destination and that mean it would be over soon. He hoped this dragonstone really was worth it.

The scouts left the escort to investigate the old temple: It was dangerously close to the border and this route of pilgrimage was known by the Ylisseans. There was no guarantee that they wouldn't try anything dirty. Especially after the raid on Themis.

"Look over there." Validar pointed at shimmering silhouette in the distance pushing apart the veils that shielded them from the sun. The shrine wasn't impressive at all. Mostly swallowed by sand and its cracked walls seemed ready to collapse, its remote location making it impossible for the Plegian government to send specialist to conserve this historical site. Looking more closely, it appeared that the main part of the shrine was underground. It promised cooler air...

When the scouts came back, the procession finally stopped by its gates.

The heat flared to his head, catching him off guard with a new dizzy spell when he stepped down from the carriage. The frontier of unconsciousness crept into the corner of his vision and being embraced by it was tempting just to escape the stifling air. But for Grima, collapsing would be a scandal, no matter the circumstances and especially in front of an audience. Even in front of Aversa it would be a disgrace.

Face scrunched in the shadow of his hood, he gestured to a servant to a servant to bring more water.

The liquid was blissfully cool against his lips and parched throat. Swallowing greedily around the thick paste in his mouth and hoping the drink would take effect.

His father cautious stare was the first thing he opened his eyes again, obviously aware of how his son was fairing.

"Soldiers are to guard the perimeter of the shrine I will proceed with the High Hierophant."

His legs shook each step he took down the stairs. The air was stuffy, humid and cooler the more downward they went, but still too warm, his insides were burning and the sweat pearling on his skin made him shiver. He couldn't find any relief like he had hoped he would. He was thankful for Validar to acknowledge his silent request and assure that they would remain alone.

When the underground darkness shrouded them, his father brought his hand high the air, the flame dancing between his fingers grew in strength and lit the underground mausoleum and he sent it flying. The orb of fire stayed suspended in midair in the room that was smaller than Robin had thought. About twice his arm-span with ancient fresques etched onto the sandstones walls, and in the center of the room presided an ornate marble sarcophagus.

The heavy silence was cut short by Robin's cough on the dust that hung in the air. Validar clasped his hands in prayer and Robin did the same, dropping to his knees shakily in front of the tomb.

The whole situation was troubling. Grima desecrating the final rest of a dragon was outrageous. He was soiling Grima's image, but nonetheless, an artifact of immense power was within his reach and his father consented for him to use. And said artefact would allow him to fight for the plegian theocracy and guarantee his safety till his revival at the Dragon's Table. Considering the Ylissean's kidnapping that just occured, War would strike again sooner than anyone would expect.

"Are you well enough to open the sarcophagus?", asked Validar. The flickering flame outlined the ounce of worry on his face.

Robin frowned. "It's with the corpse?" He had expected the dragonstone to be kept somewhere in an urn or even decorating the marble sarcophagus.

"Dragonstones are the most precious thing to manaketes." humpfed Validar. "It is an embodiment of their incredible power. They would always keep it close to their heart. Help me push... if you're well enough."

No matter, Robin's hands joined his father's on the lid's side, they counted down and pushed. He grunted with efforts, his limbs shaking from exhaustion.

"ROBIN!"

He felt like his body floated between two waters and he vaguely felt an arm slung behind his back and a trembling one cupping his nape, while he was half-way from laying down.

How did he end up in this position? Wasn't he pushing off the lid of the coffin?

"Father..." Robin tried to shift and he felt his burning muscle cramp oddly at the effort and head swam in confusion. The hands fluttered around him and moved, surprising him with an intense wave of nausea. Bile flooded the back of his throat and he whined in pain.

Unconsciousness finally relieved him.

Gulping the small trickle of saliva in his mouth and slowly blinking away the drowsiness, Robin let eyes roam the vaulted ceiling, the bas-relief, wondering where he was. Then the luxurious room became familiar, he has living between those four walls for over nineteen years... His own bedroom. He groaned, shifting underneath his bed covers, testing his sore limbs. The cramps were finally gone but he felt weak all over.

Rolling onto his side, he stared out the window with half-lidded eyes. It was a new morning, the greyish light was soft and an inch of sunlight peeked over the wasteland's horizon. His focus shifted to land onto his night stand and the small parcel that rested on it. Something small wrapped in cloth. He picked it up, which proved itself to be more difficult than expected with a numb hand.

A strange awe got caught in his throat as he unfolded the gift someone left for him...

It was the dragonstone.

The nacreous rock, about the size of a walnut, was of murky brown colour, but a soft glint teal shone in the morning. It wasn't as magnificent as he expected, but the pulsations of raw magic, a force of nature thrummed against his fingertips. He was mesmerized

He could finally afford himself a smile.

In afternoon, Robin was well enough to leave his quarters with aid of an hydrating elixir his father brought to him and the command that he join him in the courtyard to celebrate Gangrel's return. The High Hierophant could feel the buzz of unease through the corridors as guards flocked towards the courtyard.

Robin was careful enough to remain in the shade with his escort on top of the balcony that overlooked the crowded square below. The chatter ended when trumpets blared, clamoring the King's return. Horses poured in through the gates...

One

Two

Three

Four

...

There was a total of ten horses, far less than what was supposed to accompany royalty

Robin's hands tensed on the railing as he scan the faces. It was with an overwhelming sense of relief that he recognized Aversa's white hair and black garments and she appeared unharmed.

Validar walked briskly towards Gangrel who seemed quite upset and gesticulated vehemently after something Robin's father said.

It was only after the courtyard slowly emptied itself that the first whispers of rumors reached the Hierophant:

They not only lost their Ylissean hostage, but missed they missed a rare opportunity for Plegia's rightful retribution. The Exalt, the holder of the Emblem, along with the Ylissean prince and princess had been present. Their only saving grace in this mission: War was officially declared.


End file.
